


The Colours Of The World

by nadin



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadin/pseuds/nadin
Summary: When Owen learns that he has a son he has never heard of, he and Claire embark on a road trip to go meet him. Post JW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story 3 years ago, right after I finished Untouchable and it's been sitting on my laptop since. And then I mentioned it to a couple of people who convinced me to share it so... here we are! 
> 
> I don't think this is a kid fic, per se. But there's a child who gets mentioned so I suppose it's for you to decide.

He probably should have been more specific, Owen was beginning to think now. Back on the island, in that packed and stuffy hangar, he should have made it clear that by ‘sticking together’ he hadn’t necessarily meant living in her study converted into a second bedroom for two months.

She didn’t want him sleeping on the couch, Claire had said while two men in blue jumpsuits hauled a futon into what used to be her office. Truth be told, Owen didn’t want to sleep anywhere but in her bedroom, but that had not seemed like the right thing to say at the time. It was no trouble, she had assured him, clearly reading his pained expression in the wrongest way possible. Owen had nodded, mustered a forced smile and busied himself with hauling whatever few personal possessions he had left into a small room tucked in the back of her downtown condo, kicking his duffel bag under her computer desk and choosing to ignore the fact that this room didn’t have a proper closet.

At least it had air-conditioning, he’d told himself. It would probably be so much more impossible to handle this arrangement if he was hot for the girl and hot in general all the goddamned time. San Diego wasn’t that much different from Isla Nublar, weather-wise. Maybe less humid, but the heat was going through the roof even in February. All things considered, Owen had ended up with a much better deal than he would have if he’d been crammed into one of the motels on the outskirts of town, which would have been his sorry fate if Claire hadn’t offered him to stay with her.

A few weeks into their odd cohabitation, he had mentioned maybe starting to look for a place of his own, but she waved him off, saying he was welcome to stick around for as long as he needed. However, Owen wasn’t sure if she wanted  _ him _ to be here, or if the incident had left her rattled enough that  _ anyone _ would have done and she’d just as well have any other stranger eat her food and shamelessly abuse her Netflix account.

All in all, though, it wasn’t the worst kind of situation. Sure, he couldn’t quite think straight when he was around her, and their quiet evenings playing board games or watching  _ Game of Thrones _ were starting to drive him up the wall, but his alternative was bunking up with Lowery in his sub-basement or whatever. Although on some days, it seemed like a far merciful resolution.

“But is she seeing anyone?” Barry asked him one Saturday while they were shooting hoops behind a school that stood empty during spring holidays empty while Lowery was playing Angry Birds on his phone on the bench, not even bothering to pretend he was there to throw the ball.

Owen had quit InGen a week after the incident; walked out after they’d mentioned ‘recapturing’ the species for ‘scientific purposes’, and Claire had told him later how proud she was of him for not punching anyone in the face, her voice almost devoid of sarcasm. Barry had decided to stay for the time being, mostly for the paycheck, hating his current job and his post-park fame to the core. Lowery had stayed because he was curious to see how it would all pan out for the company. Besides, they had given him a raise, and not everyone ‘would do something stupid on principle’, he’d told Owen.

“How would I know?” Owen responded, tossing the ball at the hoop. It bounced off the board and rolled away to the other side of a small court tucked between the gym and the main school building.

“You live together, man,” Barry shook his heat, trotting off to retrieve it. “If you’re not discussing this over dinner, what  _ are _ you talking about?”

“Takeaway menus, episodes of  _ Shark Tank _ ,” Owen shrugged. There really wasn’t much else there to discuss, the park and most of the things related to it barely ever mentioned by either one of them. “If she is, I wouldn’t know. Besides, she’s at work all the time.”

Claire was still around for the clean-up, although she’d already started updating her resume, so he figured it wouldn’t last. Not for much longer, at least. Drowning in briefings and press-conferences and meetings with the lawyers - she’d told him on more than one occasion that this wasn’t what her job was supposed to be about, her voice frustrated. She wouldn’t share much, though. It was bad enough she had to stew in this scandal day in and day out to also drag it along with her outside the office, she’d said once and he never brought it up again.

Barry passed the ball back to him and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, both of them more out of breath because of the heat than running around. Maybe Lowery with his phone games was onto something here, Owen thought.

“You could always ask,” Barry suggested. “Or man up and ask her out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She’d die laughing and I’ll have to change my name and move to Brazil,” Owen scoffed. “After I hide her body.”

“Are you talking about Claire?” Lowery asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose when he caught a whiff of their conversation.

“Is she dating anyone?” Barry turned to him, seeing as how out of the three of them, Lowery was perhaps seeing the most of her.

He shrugged. “She’s not the one for flaunting this stuff around. She once was three months into a relationship with someone from Finance before anyone found out.”

“And then what?” Owen frowned.

If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that he couldn’t possibly compete with guys in Armani suits and six-figure salaries who knew how to speak the language she understood. Hell, if he knew who she was when he’d asked her out the first time, he’d most likely never have the balls to do it. Hence the excruciating self-torture right now. If he was her post-incident charity case and she felt bad for him and the sorry life he’d left behind on that island, there was no freaking way asking her out could lead to anything good. 

Lowery glanced up at him. “I don’t know. It probably started getting in her way of putting ninety-hour weeks.”

Barry shot him a murderous glare and shook his head. “So you what, plan to sleep in her guest room for the rest of your life?” he asked Owen.

The latter finally scored a three-point shot, panting. “Probably. And if she keeps on using that vanilla thing, like a lotion or whatever, the rest of my life would last for about two weeks before I have a heart attack.”

“TMI,” Lowery called out, stretching his legs before him and crossing them at the ankles, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

Laughing, Barry slapped Owen on the back. “You have got to do something about it, man.”

“I think I need to go throw away that lotion, for starters,” Owen muttered, grabbing his water bottle and gulping down half of its contents, his shirt soaked through.

There were not enough cold showers in the world to make any of this feel better.

\---

He needed a job.

The thought wasn’t new, but during the few interviews he’d had in the past several weeks, people were more eager to fish for the details about the incident at Jurassic World than ask him about his qualifications and experience, and the last thing Owen wanted was to become ‘an attraction’. It was almost like talking to the press, only these people were more likely to share the juicy details on their Twitter rather than the front pages of the LA Today and Herald Sun or whatever.

He still needed a job, though.

The severance cheque he’d got from InGen was melting away quickly on his account. He was sleeping on someone else’s futon. And between running 10 miles every day, playing video games, and dreaming about Claire in settings that were making it hard to look her in the eye in the morning, he really needed a distraction. Either that, or his ‘heart attack’ joke wouldn’t be that much of a joke very soon. Either that, or he’d cave in and start selling the Jurassic World stories to pay his bills. Well, Claire’s bills.

Besides, daytime TV sucked.

Owen returned from his morning run the next Tuesday after swinging by the juice bar to grab a mango-strawberry-something smoothie that Claire could drink by a gallon only to find the house already empty, the coffee pot half full, and a sticky note on the fridge telling him that some lawyer had tried to get a hold of him.

Owen pulled out his earbuds, leaving them on the counter in the kitchen and reread the note written in neat, tiny letters. A lawyer? Eyebrows furrowed, he racked his brain, trying to remember what it could possibly be about. His case with InGen had long been cleared, his involvement insignificant enough for them to forget about him before he had even walked out of the building. Or at least that was how Claire had made it sound to spare him the fun of being dragged through the courts and god only knew what else.

Owen grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left the note on the counter to be dealt with after the shower, already dreading the scent of her shampoo undoubtedly hanging in their shared bathroom. It was the worst, in the sense that he was finding it impossible not to imagine her in that cubicle. Naked.

Okay, maybe he needed to deal with the lawyer first, to cool down and maybe stop thinking about Claire Dearing in the shower.

He punched in the number, certain by now that it was one of InGen’s strategies to get him back. Oddly enough, they had never stopped calling, his adventures captured on multiple cameras – that were apparently kept out of reach of the reporters – quite possibly too impressive for them to ignore. Besides, there was literally no one else in the world with his skill set.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line startled Owen, pulling him back to reality. “Hi, may I speak with…” he squinted, reading Claire’s handwriting, “…Adam Jackson?” It came out as a question. “He called me—Owen Grady… Yes, I’ll hold.”

He finished his water, listening to a symphony or something else classical playing in his ear. Outside the kitchen window, a black car was backing out into the narrow alley, and Owen wondered what were the driver’s chances of scratching at least one door. Maybe even both.

“Yes, this is he,” he said absently when someone else, presumably Adam Jackson who’d called him earlier, appeared on the line, asking for his name to confirm Owen’s identity. “Yes… Not in a while.” A long pause followed, and then Owen’s fingers gripped the back of one of the tall bar stools sitting around the kitchen island so tightly his knuckles turned white as he barked, “I have a  _ what _ ?”

\---

“A  _ son _ ?” Claire’s jaw dropped in shock.

Fifteen minutes ago, when she’d come back home and found Owen jittery and agitated, pacing around the house like he was a wild animal in a cage, her first thought had been that someone had died.

In her experience, Owen Grady was many things, but nervous and antsy were rarely them. Hell, the man could bullshit his way through anything and sweet-talk his way into any door, no matter how locked and guarded.

The only time she’d seen him like this was when two weeks after their return, she had snuck him into Masrani Global to have Lowery pull up the salvaged footage from the island in hopes of finding Blue on one of the tapes. He’d had a similar kind of anxiousness to him back then, his eyebrows knitted together and his fingers curling and uncurling as if on the will of their own.

Was it something about the island, she’d wondered ushering him into the kitchen after wisely deciding that if they needed alcohol after this conversation, it was better to start it in close proximity to it. Just to be safe.

And then he had dumped the news the lawyer had told him this morning on her. 

“I had  _ no _ idea, Claire,” Owen said emphatically when he finished a brief recount of that conversation. “I swear to god I didn’t know.”

Oh, she didn’t doubt  _ that _ for a moment. For one thing, no one was ever that good an actor to pull an ashen face and frantic eyes on command, whatever the situation. Not that he had a reason to lie to her. And if it wasn’t that, she’d seen him with his raptors. She knew for a fact that if Owen Grady had been aware of the fact that he’d fathered a child, he wouldn’t ignore him. Or her. But certainly him, right now.

“His name is Sam,” Owen added, watching her warily. “That’s what that guy, Alan Jackson, told me.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, rubbing her temples as if she could physically push her growing headache away. And she’d only been in the know for a few minutes. What the hell was Owen feeling after thinking about all of this for a whole day? “Okay,” she repeated. “Walk me through it, will you?”

She pulled the fridge door open and grabbed a bottle of beer for him, pushing it toward Owen across the counter before reaching for an already opened bottle of wine, tempted to forego the glass.

He had a  _ child _ . Christ…

Owen gave her the basics – a woman he’d been involved with had died in a hit-and-run accident, leaving her nearly 5-year old son behind. Currently residing in Owen’s hometown of Missoula, Montana, the boy was being taken care of by child services in the three days since he’d lost his mother happen – the three days it had taken them to track Owen down.

Claire nodded, filling a glass almost to the brim, uncertain about the idea of drinking anything, her stomach churning.

Yet, when Owen took a gulp of his beer, she allowed a sip of wine to burn its way down her throat.

“Laura…” Owen continued when she didn’t say anything, and faltered, cleared his throat. “I’ve known her since high school, and there's never been anything like that between us.” He ran his hand down his face. “Well, not then. We ran into each other five years ago when I was on leave and visiting my dad. That was two years before he had a stroke.”

Claire leaned against the counter, torn between trying to catch his eyes and not knowing if she was capable of looking at him.

“One thing led to another.” He grimaced. “It was one night and all precautions were taken, that much I know.”

There was an edge to his voice, like he was pleading with her to believe him, and Claire felt her lips curve into a not-quite-smile, the best form of encouragement she could give when her mind was on fire.

“Things happen,” she offered.

“Yeah,” he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Apparently. I just…” he dropped his hand, his shoulders slouching helplessly. “I can’t really… How is it possible?”

Claire’s features softened. She drummed her fingers on the granite countertop, her eyes searching his face. “Look, I don’t want to throw any shades on anyone, but is there any proof that he’s yours?”

Owen’s jaw tightened for a second before he puffed his cheeks and let out a long breath. “I guess there’s a paternity test that could be done, or whatever it’s called.” He was trying to peel the label off the beer bottle absently, seemingly unaware that he was doing it. “The thing is, it’s not like she gained anything from registering him as mine, Claire. I mean, she probably didn’t plan on dying at the age of 35 and leaving him in my care. And she could’ve easily found me all those years ago, asked for child support. My father was still alive when he was born, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like I fell off the face of the Earth, either. And if I knew…” he trailed off.

She nodded. “Then how  _ did _ they find you?”

He took another sip of his beer. “Pulled my name off his birth certificate. Apparently, Laura had no family left and there are no other legal guardians in the picture.”

They stayed quiet for a long moment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the traffic outside. Familiar noises that sounded entirely alien right now, too normal when everything else was anything but.

“So, what are you going to do now?” she asked quietly a few minutes later after staring at the counter grew a bit too unbearable.

Owen raised his eyes, his expression conflicted. “Go there,” he responded in a low, hoarse voice. “See what it’s all about, and if he really is mine--” he swallowed uneasily, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “He’s staying with some foster family till Monday while they process the paperwork, and then I can pick him up.”

“Sam,” she repeated as if tasting the name in her mouth.

The whole situation seemed unreal. It was one of those things she’d read about in newspapers or saw on TV, but did anything like that ever happen outside of fiction? No. Like winning a lottery or dying in an airplane crash – the chances of going through something like this were so small it had never occurred to Claire that it could happen to real people. Certainly not to anyone she knew, anyone living under her roof.

If she were completely honest with herself, she’d been waiting for Owen to start laughing and tell her it was all a joke ever since this conversation had begun. She’d probably have to bite his head off if that were the case, but at least it would make sense. What he was saying didn’t, period.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask for--” Owen started when he finished his drink.

“Of course, he can stay here with you, for as long as necessary,” she said quickly, sparing him the need to ask.

“No, it’s not that.” He winced. “I mean, that’s what I was going to ask next. Probably.” He paused, catching her gaze and holding it. “Can you come with me?”

Claire blinked. “To Montana?”

His lips twitched a little. “It’s not that far away.” His small smile was sheepish, echoing in her chest with a painful pang. “We could take a car, drive there--”

“Drive?” Her eyes widened. “You want to  _ drive _ to Missoula?”

“Why not?”

“What happened to flying?” she inquired, tilting her head quizzically.

He shrugged. “It’s too… convenient.”

Claire’s eyebrow arched. “But isn’t it the point? Hasn’t it been the point ever since we stopped using horse-drawn carriages?”

Owen dropped his gaze, deflating somehow before her eyes. “The meeting’s three days away, Claire. I’ll go crazy doing nothing for three days.”

“You could clean the fridge, maybe do your laundry,” she suggested only half-joking, but something about him made her bite back a snider comment, their usual back-and-forth feeling wrong when the man was basically crawling out of his own skin.

“At least, driving would feel like doing  _ something _ ,” Owen finished, shaking his head and looking out the window at the purple sky, clinging to the remnants of sunset, the world already hiding in the shadows. Now that the rush hour was coming to an end, she could hear the gentle lapping of waves against the shore a few blocks away, the cries of seagulls soaring near the water. “Truth is, I could really use a friend,” he said, turning to her again, the corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly. “And it’s not like your weekend is packed.”

Claire snorted, pushing back from the counter. “Sure, that’s how you get a girl to say yes.”

He chuckled under his breath, the tension gripping his body in a tight vice for hours seemingly letting go, at last. They both knew she was not going to say no. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful response :) This is a pretty short story but I hope you'll enjoy what's coming next!

“You’re kidding me, right?” Clare stared at an older looking rental Nissan over the rim of her sunglasses, a bag of spare clothes and basic necessities she had packed for the trip the night before slung over her shoulder.

In the 12 hours that had passed since their conversation last night, she had almost managed to talk herself out of doing this, knowing that she could easily say no and Owen wouldn’t insist. Yet, when she’d heard Owen leave the house an hour ago to pick up the car he’d booked the previous evening, she’d found herself kicking away the blankets and clinging out into the too-early morning, not bothering to stifle her yawns and trying oh so hard not to overthink any of this.

It didn’t bother her that Owen was suddenly a father, or the fact that he had been unaware of that until yesterday. What had thrown Claire off more than anything was that this new revelation was once again turning their lives upside down. His more than hers, for sure. But it was still more unnerving than she was ready for.

And now there was a car that didn’t look much like a cross-country road trip material to her. It looked like it was going to fall apart before they got to the end of the block.

“They didn’t have much to choose from on such short notice,” Owen explained, climbing from behind the steering wheel after he popped the trunk open to throw their bags in it.

Claire sighed. “And why can’t we take my car, again?”

“Because that way we can fly back if you want to,” he said, rounding the Nissan to join her on the sidewalk.

She was relieved that he looked far less shaken now than he had yesterday, the deep crease between his eyebrows smoothed out. She doubted he’d had much sleep, but either rest, or simply the passage of time had allowed him to start coming to terms with what he’d learned. Either that, or he was freaked out to the point of complete denial. She was sort of okay with either, if only because if she’d found out she had a child she didn’t know existed – hypothetically speaking, of course – she’d probably be rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees. All things considered, the fact that he hadn’t wrapped this car around the first tree he’d passed was a good sign.

“Hop in,” Owen offered graciously, opening a passenger door for her. “And hold on to this, will ya?” A backpack landed on her knees.

“What is this?” she asked as he slammed the door closed and trotted toward his own seat.

“Sustenance,” Owen said, sliding behind the wheel.

Suspicious, she peeked inside to find it stuffed with candy bars, Slim Jims, and cookies. She spotted two tubes of Pringles and a few bottles of Gatorade, and sighed subtly. Surely there’d be a place or two along I-something-or-other where they could get something that didn’t consist of sugar and the entire periodic table, right?

Claire tossed the backpack into the backseat and buckled her seatbelt, wondering for the umpteenth time what exactly she was getting herself into.

“You okay?” she asked Owen when another minute passed and he still hadn’t started the car. Instead, he was staring unseeingly out the windshield.

“Hm?” Owen turned to her, started. “No, I’m fine. Just…” He exhaled through his nose. “Still trying to wrap my mind around it.”

She reached for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” she promised.

Owen dropped his gaze, studying the knot of their fingers for a long moment, her skin so much paler than his, and so much softer to the touch than his calloused one. It was cooler too, but even so, it made his hand tingle. He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“Thank you,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “For… doing this. For everything.” 

“Well, it’s like you said – I don’t have a life anyway,” Claire joked when the moment started to stretch between them and pulled her hand away.

Owen let out a short laugh. “I didn’t say that, Claire.”

“You implied it,” she pointed out.

“It’s gonna be fun,” he promised her, turning the key in the ignition at last. “We’ll see interesting places, live off gas station food, bond--”

“Kill each other over which radio station is better,” Claire grumbled, folding her arms over her chest and sinking deeper into her seat.

This was going to be fun.

\---

Owen had spent the previous night alternating between tossing and turning on the damned futon that was too short for him and pacing the narrow space left between it and Claire’s computer desk, his brain on fire.

A kid.

A son.

How was it even possible?

It wasn’t the technical aspect of that question that bothered him – he knew  _ how _ – but the whole notion of having a child of his own was so far outside out of Owen’s comprehension someone might have as well told him that aliens from outer space had taken over the world, and he would be less surprised.

He tried to remember that night. Laura. She was a couple of years younger than him. They had gone to the same school. In fact, Owen couldn’t recall the time when he didn’t know her, but their paths had rarely crossed, their social circles growing up never really overlapping. The fact that she had recognized him when he had been picking up groceries all those years after the last time they’d seen each other was crazy. But then again, Missoula wasn’t exactly New York City. Everyone knew everyone else, his face wasn’t exactly the face of a stranger.

But trying to be rational about the whole thing hadn’t been really working.

And then there was Claire. Jesus Christ, he didn’t even have a home of his own. He was pining for a woman he probably didn’t have a chance with. He was unemployed. And now he was also possibly, maybe, a father to a 4-year-old. Almost 5, Adam Jackson had told him. As if  _ that _ made any difference.

It had been almost impossible not to try to imagine what Sam could be like. Was he fair-haired like Laura? Did he have anything of Owen’s? Like maybe the shape of his eyes or the stubborn set of his jaw. Did he like racecars? Did he enjoy climbing trees? Was he a troublemaker? What was his favourite food? His favourite book? His favourite toy? The list could go on forever. So far, Owen had missed every milestone in the boy’s life, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was hanging upside down, not knowing which way to turn.

He had considered Claire’s words, too. What if Laura had put his name on the birth certificate because it was more convenient? What if she had done it because Owen was not around and no one would ask any questions? The boy might not even be his.

Not that he could do much about that from California, though.

In the end, Owen had turned the thermostat down to its lowest setting and finally passed out, exhausted, in the early hours of the morning, his feet dangling over the edge of the futon, still no closer to figuring out how he’d ended up in this mess than he had been the day before.

Now, his eyes felt like someone had rubbed a handful of sand into them but his mind was wired and abuzz, his focus centered.

After getting out of San Diego, he turned left and headed northeast toward the Arizona border. He wanted to steer clear of the long stretches of bleak highways, in part because they tended to be faceless and plain boring, and in part because on some level he wasn’t all that eager to arrive at their destination and have his world as he knew it tossed off a cliff.

“Hey, driver picks the music,” he said when Claire started fumbling with the radio, her sunglasses sitting low on her nose.

“Driver watches the road,” she countered, unfazed.

Owen started to protest (because those were  _ the rules _ ), but she found Bruce Springsteen’s  _ Born To Run _ on one of the stations, and before he knew it, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the tune as the miles flew past them.

\---

“You know, that’s what GPS is for,” Owen noted a few hours later, pushing the paper map Claire held unfolded across her lap off the steering wheel. She had her nose buried in it for a good 15 miles now, tracing her perfectly manicured finger along the red and yellow lines like she was trying to solve that mouse and cheese puzzle – which route would get her to the cheese faster?

“I know,” Claire muttered without looking up. “But you can’t see a… the bigger picture with GPS.”

“I don’t need the bigger picture,” Owen breathed out, rubbing his forehead. “The one that I have is so big it doesn’t fit in my head.”

Earlier, they had stopped for breakfast at one of the million diners scattered along the interstate roads, half-empty either due to the hour – too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, or because they didn’t have much clientele no matter what time of day it was, what with being tucked so far off the main routes they probably weren’t even on the map.

He had ordered a stack of pancakes with double syrup and Claire had opted for a French toast, allowing him to scoop the whipped cream off her order in exchange for blueberries that had come with his. All in all, it had seemed like a terrific deal. He had watched her pick her way around fried bread when she hadn’t been looking at him, noticing the way the morning sun bounced of her freckles, tangling in her hair that was now falling a little past her shoulders in soft waves.

Somehow, it had been easier to focus on Claire, however painful that was, than to try and sort out the mess in his head. Whatever strings she had to pull to have her Friday off, despite her undoubtedly packed schedule – last time he’d checked, she’d managed to cram 6 meetings, a press conference, and an interview into one day, and that wasn’t even a bad kind of day – he was grateful for it.

She had picked up her coffee – cream, no sugar – and watched the desert outside their booth window as she sipped it, her forehead creased slightly. But there’d been no way to tell what could have possibly caused it. Probably some budget crap or something else just as exciting.

And now she was studying the map like only Claire Dearing could. She had even dug out a pencil from her travelling purse to trace several options for their route across Arizona, Utah and possibly Wyoming, efficient as ever. Owen nodded in agreement each time she offered this option or that until Claire was rolling her eyes and telling him that if he didn’t care, they might have as well taken the plane.

“Not a fan of flying,” Owen admitted if a little reluctantly, his elbow hanging out the rolled-down window as the cool air, despite the bright sun hanging high above their heads, tugged at his hair, crawling under his shirt, his jacket shoved into the backseat because the car was warm enough.

“You were in the army,” Claire gaped at him, incredulous.

“Yes, and there’s your reason why I was with the marines, not in the air force,” he pointed out, and she shook her head, smiling.

“My, my, what other deep dark secrets--” she started.

“Shut up,” Owen murmured, barely holding back his own smile.

Still smirking, Claire leaned against her own seat and focused on the not particularly impressive view outside her window, which wasn’t much. A pale desert coloured in every shade of yellow and orange with occasional outbursts of green stretched on both sides of the road peppered with a rare bush or some succulents here and there, the colours burned and faded under the ever-present scorching sun. It was a blessing perhaps that it was only the beginning of March now, the heat not yet merciless. They were moving toward the hills rolling at the horizon, but even after several hours of driving, those hills didn’t appear to have grown any nearer, and Claire was starting to suspect they might as well be a figment of her imagination.

She had spent a good two hours watching Owen surreptitiously out of the corner of her eyes when they had only set out on their journey, the line of his shoulders less stiff with every mile they had left behind. And then not so surreptitiously when it had turned out he was so deep in thought he didn’t really care.

Even with his lips moving soundlessly with whatever song was playing on the radio, he looked distant, his mind far away, his forehead crowded with enough concern to fill a gallon-sized barrel. He was scared, she could feel that much. Confused, too. Anyone would be in his situation, and it wasn’t like she could blame him. Claire’s fingers itched to reach over and smooth that crease between his eyebrows, chase his fears away.

She was not used to seeing him like this, Claire realized with a start. Even in the jungle of South America, he was composed somehow, in control. Like he had known what he’d been doing even if he hadn’t. It had been comforting on more levels than she was willing to admit, then. And even after the incident, when the walls continued to crumble around her, she could always count on Owen being that rock that could shield her from anything and everything.

Watching him drive now, eyes glued to the interstate, Claire realized that this was the most un-Owen-like she’d ever seen him, which made her wonder what else was hiding under his usual easy smile and sassy comebacks.

“You are doing  _ what _ ?” Karen’s voice pitched with a ‘what’ when Claire had called her sister from the gas station they had stopped at shortly after breakfast, the wind tearing at her hair and stealing her words from her mouth to carry them away.

“Driving to Montana,” Claire had repeated, uncertain which part was unclear – the what, the where, or the why. Not that she’d known the latter one herself.

She’d omitted the newly found child story, seeing as how it wasn’t her secret to tell, but chosen to at the very least let her whereabouts be known before Karen had called her house phone, hadn’t found anyone there, and sent the National Guard to check up on her baby sis. She’d been a bit of a worrier ever since the incident, and Claire had decided that it was easier to roll with that instead of fighting it at every curve of the road.

Instead, she’d told Karen they were visiting Owen’s home town ‘just because’, practically hearing the wheels in her sister’s head turn, echoing the sound of those in Claire’s.

Frankly, Karen’s guess as to  _ why _ would have been as good as Claire’s at this point. In roughly 10 weeks since Owen had parked himself in her house, they had grown into something between best friends and comfy roommates, arguing about politics and whose turn it was to do the dishes and overlooking each other’s bedheads and grogginess in the morning. Claire was beginning to think they would start doing each other’s nails and brain each other’s hair any day now.

Karen kept telling her that she was crazy to have ‘that ass’ in her house and not do anything about it. But what exactly she was supposed to do? She had invited him  _ to live with her _ , for crying out loud! They had at least a dozen ‘dinner dates’ done over nice wine since then. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder more than once when they’d stayed up late watching TV,  _ in her goddamn pyjamas _ . He had more chances to make a move than she would give anyone else, and at this point, she couldn’t possibly imagine what else she could possibly do, short of climbing naked into his bed. Although if he was indeed seeing her as one of ‘his guys’ now, it would probably freak him out.

In the end, her presence in this car came down to two reasons – she was curious, and Owen needed a friend. She could be that friend if no other options were available. To Karen, it would definitely sound like total bullshit, so Claire had fed her a story about how she was sick of being recognized on every corner, minor celebrity that she was. Which was sort of true, too. It was true enough for Claire to believe it herself if all else failed.

\---

They switched after stopping for lunch right after crossing the Arizona border sometime in mid-afternoon. The convenience store sandwiches were a poor alternative to what Claire would normally consider food, but she should have probably thought about that before they’d left and maybe packed something that was less of a threat to her well-being. Paying for not thinking ten steps ahead was only fair, she decided, and chose not to think of how long those sandwiches had spent sitting in that fridge. 

Owen didn’t mind. Of course, he didn’t mind! He’d munched down his own snack while she was still picking pieces of wilted lettuce from hers, both of them leaning against the trunk of their Nissan, watching rare cars go by. In the end, Claire gave up after half a sandwich and offered the rest of it to Owen, rolling her eyes at how fast it disappeared in his mouth. And while he was tossing the wrappers and their empty water bottles in the garbage, she went back inside and bought a bag of trail mix and a couple of apples.

Food-wise, this trip sucked. 

She did not say that out loud though, and then they were on the road again, with her behind the wheel this time.

Claire wasn’t a fan of driving unfamiliar vehicles. In fact, she was the exact opposite of that, but after six hours on the road, she decided that it beat being a passenger. It was nice to be in control, again. It had been a while since she had to travel for extended stretches of time, and the longer it went, the more obvious it became that sitting all day in her office chair was not the same as spending all day in a car. Her butt had long fallen asleep, and even though moving into the driver's seat was a questionable change, she hoped that having to be focused on the road would take her mind off her stiff back and an uncomfortable kink in her neck.

Owen pushed the passenger seat back to accommodate his legs and then busied himself with playing with the radio and the heater or whatever else was there on the dashboard.

“You think they found her?” he asked Claire about an hour later after he had failed to find a radio station that still worked.

“Who?” Claire was relieved to finally spot splotches of green in the setting sun, a sign that they were approaching a national park, one of the few in the area surrounding Sedona. Meaning - civilization.

“Blue.” He was staring out the window now, his jaw set tautly.

Claire’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. They hadn’t found her the first time they’d checked the footage still transmitting from the island, which didn’t mean anything, of course. There were huge chunks of the park not covered by surveillance, and Blue could be anywhere. Claire had asked Lowery to keep an eye on her, just in case something popped up, but he had never called her, and if he’d said anything to Owen, Owen had never shared it with her.

“Is that what you’re thinking about?” she inquired, an eyebrow arched.

Truth be told, she knew that the reopening was a matter of when, not if. Soon enough, people would forget about the tragedy that had happened on the island, and before everyone knew it, there’d be Jurassic Adventure, or Jurassic Fun, or Jurassic Something-Else, and however that scenario unfolded, it probably didn’t mean anything good for the animals still living there.

“Well, I could be thinking about how my one-night stand resulted in me having a child, but I’ve been doing that for the past 30 hours and it’s still not getting me anywhere, so I might as well think of something else, ain’t I?” Owen muttered.

“I don’t know,” Claire said honestly. “But if they did… you know it’s probably won’t be good news for her, right?”

“She’s a smart girl.” There was a wistful smile in his voice, and Claire’s heart clenched with longing, and in that moment she was happy she couldn’t see his face, what with his staring out his window and her trying to avoid ending up in the ditch.

“It’s a small island,” she breathed out.

Owen turned to her. “Didn’t feel that way when you were prancing around on your heels, did it?”

She shot him a quick look, her jaw hanging open. “ _ Prancing _ around?”

He let out a short laugh. “In a badass way.”

Claire smacked him lightly on the arm, biting back her own laughter. That was one way to put it, for sure. He should know, though. He had been the one bandaging her feet afterwards, his fingers gently rubbing some healing lotion into her skin. None of them had been laughing that night, but she’d been happy he was here. Happy she hadn’t been all alone.

They were approaching the sandstone rock formations now that looked to Claire like layered cakes, bright orange in the sun that had inched almost all the way to the horizon.

As the city lights appeared in the distance, Claire vowed silently to never go on a road trip again.

They had dinner in Sedona – finally something she didn’t wrinkle her nose at – before switching again. She had assumed, at first, that they would stay here for the night, but Owen said he had something else in mind, and after a proper meal and a long day, she didn’t have it in her to protest.

Somewhere between I-this and I-that, Claire dozed off, lulled by the darkness, a steady purr of the engine, and Owen humming with the radio under his breath.

She jolted awake when the car slowed to a stop, blinking in near-complete darkness as he turned off the engine. It was impossible to see anything outside the windows.

“Are we there?” Claire asked, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Where?” Owen echoed, pushing his door open.

“I don’t know. Wherever it was you wanted to go.” She pushed her door open too and climbed into the cold night, shivering after the warmth of the car. “Where are we exactly, again?”

“The desert,” he announced from the darkness.

“The desert,” she murmured. “Of course.”

“C’mon, let me show you something.”

“Wait, is it that kind of stop?” Claire hummed. “The one where you pretend we’re out of gas or something and then we need to use body heat to stay warm?”

Owen chuckled. “You said that, not me.”

“I’m serious, Owen. What are we doing here? It’s freezing.”

She didn’t see him, only heard the crunching of the gravel beneath his feet as he walked around the car until he was standing right next to her, his presence very palpable even from a couple of feet away. She could feel the heat radiating off his body in the dark, and it made her shiver and wrap her arms around herself.

“Here,” he muttered, and then she heard a zipper being, well, unzipped, and the next moment he draped his hoodie over her shoulders. “Better?”

It carried the warmth of his body and smelled like Owen, and Claire was instantly wrapped in everything that he was. He was so close she could feel his breath of her face, his hands still on the lapels of his hoodie, tugging it closer around her, and all she had to do was turn her face up and—

But then his hands were on her shoulders and he was turning her around and steering her toward the hood of the car. They climbed on top of it gingerly, the metal still warm from the engine beneath their legs as they scooted closer to the windshield to lean their backs against it in a semi-sitting position, their hips touching slightly.

Claire adjusted his hoodie around herself as the wind kept throwing her hair in her face, snaking under her clothes, and making her skin ripple under its cold touch.

“Okay, now what?” she asked, leaning almost comfortably against the windshield, minus the fact that it was night, and this place was colder than any desert in her understanding should be, and she was tired, and again, the  _ desert _ ?

“Wait,” Owen, said stretching beside her – something she heard more than saw. Hell, she could barely see anything. “Let your eyes adjust.”

“To what?” she grumbled.

“This.”

And then she looked up at last, and what she saw took her breath away.

Around them, the desert was almost pitch-black, with even darker forms of Buckhorn and Organ Pipe cacti and prickly pears, but the sky above them was indescribable. Without the ever-present city lights, she could see the Milky Way stretching across the vast expanse of blackness. And it wasn’t white either, not the way she remembered it from some school tips a long time ago. It was golden and pale-pink with specs of purple here and there, and twirls of blue. And so infinite she couldn’t wrap her mind around the vastness of it.

“Breathe,” Owen told her in a soft whisper, his voice half-amused, but she didn’t care.

It was magnificent.

“How did you--” Claire started a long while later, her voice sounding as distant and small as she felt.

She had never considered herself a particularly significant person. Sure, she was one hell of a cog in a corporate machine more than once, but in a greater sense, she was also very well aware that she wasn’t changing the world or breaking the walls down or anything like that. But now, in that moment, she saw for the first time just how small she was, a grain of sand in the Universe so large she couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.

“There’s a NAVY base in the Middle East,” Owen explained. “At the Gulf. Ended up camping out in the desert more than once during my service there. Sleeping on the ground was as fun as it sounds, and the room service sucked, but the view…” He trailed off. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Claire stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching the colours that seemed to be changing before her eyes – white turning into blue, blue becoming indigo and then purple. It was like space was breathing, alive and vibrant, and right at her fingertips.

“What’s going to happen next?” she asked him eventually, a question that had been rolling on her tongue ever since they’d set on their trip. “After we get to Montana, I mean.”

Owen let out a long breath. She heard him rub his cheek with his hand – something he did when he wasn’t sure how to respond or didn’t want to. It was hard to tell which one it was this time, though.

There was one thing Claire hadn’t told him, and she wasn’t sure now if she should or even wanted to.

Last night before bed, she had pulled out her laptop and typed  _ Laura Wilner _ into the browser. A few thousand results had come up – the name wasn’t that rare, as it had turned out. Most of them had been irrelevant, but Claire had found an obituary posted last week and a Facebook page that either belonged to Laura or had been set up by her friends or family after she’d died, filled with endless Rest in peace, My sincerest condolences, and other messages of that sort. She had been a pretty, petite woman with a mane of strawberry blonde hair and a kind smile.

Claire had scrolled down the page until she’d come across a picture of Laura with a boy of about 3 or 4, Claire couldn’t quite tell. Sam. He looked exactly like a mini version of Owen, down to the same stubborn set of his jaw and a twinkle in his eyes. Owen might still want to run a paternity test, just to be safe, but the kid couldn’t have possibly looked more like him even if he tried.

Last night, when they’d talked about this whole thing, it had sounded more like an  _ if _ kind of situation, but after seeing that photo, it had become a  _ when _ to her. Claire didn’t know how to mention it though, feeling that it was a breach of the privacy of sorts, even if Owen had told her everything himself. In the end, staring at the sky and listening to him breathe slowly and deeply next to her, she decided that he probably needed to sort it all out for himself first before she started barging in with her good intentions and curiosity.

But still, the question remained – what next?

“I guess I’ll have to start looking for a pre-school,” Owen said after a long pause. “At what age do they start pre-school?”

“Five, I think?” she responded, which sounded more like a question. She could not, for the life of her, recalled when had it happened to her nephews.

“Well, this is right on time then,” Owen breathed out.

“You’ll do great,” Claire heard herself say before the words even registered with her, and then he was looking at her – she felt his head turn, his breath falling on her cheek now. “I mean, you’ve raised four raptors, haven’t you?”

He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through her body from where their shoulders were brushing against one another. “Are you saying that raising a child is the same as raising a vicious animal?”

“Worse, according to my sister,” she deadpanned. “So it’s probably a good thing you have some experience.”

“I just… never thought it would be like that, you know?” he added softly. “Didn’t think it would be like anything, really. I kinda always thought it’d just happen at some point. Being a single parent was never on my agenda, believe it or not.”

“Well, that part is easily fixed,” she pointed out, and Owen went still.

“Oh yeah?” This couldn’t be happening, could it?

“In fact, there’s a nice woman in my office that asked about you,” she continued. “From Public Relations, I think. She saw you when you picked me up for lunch once, and I meant to tell you this but then you punched a reporter--”

Owen bristled momentarily at the memory. “He was a  _ blogger _ , and he had no business calling you--”

“My point is, she wouldn’t mind if I gave you her number. Or the other way around.”

For a few moments, Owen was too busy thinking about that douche that had jumped at them with questions about the park and processed to call Claire a coldhearted bitch when she had refused to answer them until Owen’s fist couldn’t not introduce itself to the guy’s face. It had been messy and bloody and unpleasant, so no wonder she’d forgotten—

“Wait, are you trying to set me up with someone?”

Great. That was just great. Claire Dearing was his wing-woman now, trying to pimp him up with one of her coworkers. That was so fantastic. From zero to pathetic in 2 seconds flat. It was his personal record. He had officially slid into that friend zone from which there was no way out. Any day they would start gossiping about Brangelina and getting spa treatments together or something.

What was the protocol for throwing up in national parks?

Owen cleared his throat. “Thanks, but I think I’ll manage.”

Claire shrugged. “Suit yourself, but the offer still stands.”

This was the lowest of his low, perhaps, Owen thought. Barry was right. He had waited too long. And now he was officially promoted to the position of one of her girlfriends. There was no coming back from this.

\---

The conversation stalled afterwards, and then it got too cold even for the night sky to be a good enough distraction from that. In the end, they drove toward Flagstaff to find a place to sleep.

The motel was small but looked clean. They were lucky, the clerk told them when Owen filled in the registration card and signed the bill. It was their last room.

Of course, it was, Claire thought grimly, kicking herself for not thinking of making a booking earlier.

But the time was nearing midnight and she was tired, and she honestly didn’t care at this point. Owen had seen her bloodied and sweaty and smelling of the dinosaur poop. How much worse could it get? 

The room was nice though, on the smaller side but tidy and neat, smelling faintly of the furniture polish and fresh linens. And more importantly, it had two double beds. And a shower.

Claire stood under the hot spray of water until her skin turned red and her fingers pruney, washing off all 12 hours of having been cooped up in a car and then freezing her ass off on top of it until she no longer felt cold to her bones. The upside of being dead tired was that she couldn’t care less about having to sleep in one room with Owen.

Again.

The thought immediately brought up the memory of their stay in a hotel in San Jose where Owen had to crash on the couch ten feet too short for him because the place had been stuffed to the brim with guests and park employees. Claire had offered him to take the bed, fearful that he might leave and look for a better accommodation elsewhere when she could barely stand the idea of being left alone, but he had waved her off and courageously made it through 3 days they had to wait till they could book the plane tickets back to the States, what with the heightened demand for air travel.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was sitting on top of the comforter on the bed closest to the door, flipping through all two of the channels the TV perched on the wall had – ESPN and a channel that was showing some old sitcom.  _ Third Rock From The Sun _ ? God, how long had it been since she’d last seen it?

He looked at her when she appeared in the room in a cloud of shower steam, her hair gathered on the top of her head, and his quick once-over didn’t escape Claire’s attention, although she did her damn best to ignore it.

“All yours,” she announced, jerking her chin toward the bathroom and busying herself with plugging her phone to charge.

Owen hummed and tossed the remote on the bed before grabbing his own towel and trying not to notice how her slightly oversized shirt kept on sliding off Claire’s shoulder, torn between wanting to adjust it and kiss said shoulder. Probably both.

The shower felt divine, and he took his sweet time to scrub this whole day off his skin and get rid of the inconvenience caused by the notion of having Claire Dearing in a bed on the other side of the door, his mind helpfully supplying him with colourful images of everything he positively  _ couldn’t _ be thinking about. Christ…

Twenty minutes later, he found her sitting in her bed, the blanket pulled over her legs, frowning at the TV. He turned to it just in time to catch the end of the flare clip the media kept playing on repeat, the whole cat-and-mouse game with the T-Rex the public was raging about. It was on mute, but Claire was seemingly reading the lips of the guy with the mic.

“They’re talking about Simon again,” she said without looking at Owen and pressed her lips into a displeased thin line. “I don’t care that they drag my name through the mud – it can hardly get any worse anyway. But him? When he can’t defend himself?”

Owen walked over to her, took the remote from her hands and turned the TV off.

“Why are you watching this garbage?” he asked, sliding under his own blanket before the desire so climb under hers got too much to bear.

“Because I have to know what they are going to throw at me next,” she grumbled, flopping onto her back and pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Owen turned off the light and fluffed his pillow. “They’re not gonna stop just because you want them to. You did your best, then. I know it and you know it. The rest of this shit doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t reply, and a when Owen turned to look at her, she was already asleep. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation in a couple of days but I'll do my best to update this fic as soon as I can, I promise!
> 
> In the meantime, please let me know what you think of it so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, sorry for taking forever to update. I was on vacation for a bit - WHICH WAS AWESOME AND I GOT TO MEET AKAJB IN PERSON!!! - and then I needed to take care of some personal stuff. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long for the last part, but in the meantime, please dig in and have fun!

She was sleepy and groggy when Owen loaded her into the car in the morning after, shoving a coffee cup into her hands and ignoring her searing glare. It wasn’t technically morning if the sun wasn’t up yet, she told him. It was still yesterday and she needed to be asleep, she pointed out next. He was crazy, she added for good measure, making him laugh and shake his head. 

A state a day – that was Owen’s plan if they wanted to make it to Montana by Monday. Plus, he wasted to swing by the Grand Canyon.

“You don’t  _ swing _ by the Grand Canyon,” Claire pointed out when they stopped for breakfast a couple of hours later and she was picking at her omelet, refusing to believe it was humanly possible for anyone to eat everything piled up on Owen’s plate.

“Sure you do,” he mumbled around a mouthful of his order of pancakes, hash-browns, bacon and eggs, which she guessed more than actually heard. He swallowed. “We’re driving through it anyway. Might as well stop to take pictures.”

She picked up her coffee cup and took a cautious sip. “Is that why you dragged me out of bed at 6:30 in the morning?”

Owen shrugged and grinned at her. “Basically.”

Claire sighed. “I hate you.”

They did stop at not one but two viewpoints, the labyrinth of narrow canyons stretching before them to the horizon.

“So, is it worth your beauty rest?” Owen asked, shielding her from the wind raging over the surface of the plateau they were driving across.

A small smile tugging at the corners of Claire’s lips, she swept the view before her with a wide glance, taking in every shade of orange and brown and maroon. “Maybe.”

She took the wheel next, the rest of their drive across Arizona and into Utah relatively uneventful, save for Owen’s grumbling over losing radio stations now and then. The landscape around them started to change, rocks and desert giving way to patches of green with the promise of lush forests further up north.

Claire didn’t budge when Owen suggested they take a detour to Zion, but turned off the road near one of the Bryce Canyon lookouts, so similar in colour to the Grand Canyon and yet so different in every other aspect.

“You like it, don’t you?” Owen asked, watching Claire watch sandstone formations dotted with thin pines here and there.

“Being stuck with you in a car all day long? Sure, a dream come true,” she hummed as she wrapped her arms around herself against the wind, but her lips were curved slightly, and it was almost more than he could handle.

He nudged her with his elbow, laughing softly. She made a decent – more than decent – road trip companion, he’d be an idiot not to admit that.

It wasn’t until they were some hundred miles away from Salt Lake City, Owen driving and drumming his fingers to something cheery and upbeat streaming from the speakers, trying to keep his mind off everything that wasn’t the road and the next destination, when he noticed that Claire had gone uncharacteristically quiet.

He darted a quick look at her out of the corner of his eye. Found her staring straight ahead, her lip caught between her teeth, her expression pensive, like she was trying to solve some monumental puzzle.

“What is it?” he asked after another mile or two of silence he wasn’t really used to, the journey up until now filled with easy conversation.

“Hm?” She blinked at him, her eyes glazed over and far-away.

“I can hear you think, Claire. Sort of. What is it?”

She stayed quiet for a couple more minutes, and then let out of a long breath. “Did you think about not going back?”

It was Owen’s turn to frown. “Come again?” He really wished he wasn’t driving and could maybe have a better look at her, see if he could find something behind her eyes that would explain the question.

“You grew up in Montana, your… Sam was raised there,” she shook her head, not looking at him. “It’s not like there’s much left for you in California.”

_ You _ , he wanted to scream _ . You’re in California! _

The crease between his eyebrows deepened, his grip on the steering wheel tightening and his back growing so stiff it almost hurt. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice thick all of sudden. He cleared his throat. “I thought you said it was okay--”

“It’s not what I meant, Owen,” Claire interjected. “What I was  _ trying _ to say, you don’t  _ have _ to go back. You could just…” She trailed off with a noncommittal shrug. 

Owen wished they continued using complete sentences.

“I do, actually.” He said after a pause. “Have to go back, that is. I… ah, I talked to Alan Grant about the research assistant position. I mean, the man is basically the best Velociraptor expert in the country, if not the whole world.” His shoulders moved in a halfhearted shrug. “I might as well use everything I’ve learned about them to my advantage, do something else in that field.”

Much to his surprise, Owen had liked the man, which came as an even bigger shock after he had met Ian Malcolm who ended up being obnoxious to no end, yelling on every corner about how he knew Jurassic World would end up in ruins. The ‘man shouldn’t be playing God’ part Owen could understand just fine. Oddly enough, just because he used to work with those animals didn’t mean he entirely approved of the fact that Masrani created them. Yet, it was Malcolm’s attitude that had rubbed him the wrong way. And, on some level, Owen had expected the same kind of vibe from the other survivor of the first park, the same bitterness and self-righteousness and contempt towards them all, and the desire to shove  _ I told you so _ down everyone throat.

Alan Grant had been entirely different though. He did, understandably, share Ian Malcolm’s concerns in general, but during their conversation, Owen had gotten the impression that he’d rather be left alone, as far as John Hammond and Jurassic Park were concerned, rather than drawing even more attention to himself and his thoughts on the subject. He was teaching anthropology at a local university now and giving lectures across the country, and his curiosity about Owen’s inquiry regarding the role of a research assistant had appeared to be genuine. If nothing else, he seemed to be more sympathetic than gloating, which was what had sold Owen on the whole idea of joining his team.

“You did?” In the periphery of his vision, he saw Claire’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Owen rubbed his chin and glanced at her. “I was meaning to,” he said, “but then this thing with Sam happened, and it just slipped my mind.” A pause. “It’s not set in stone or anything yet, but if the offer still stands when we’re back, I’ll probably be able to get out of your hair in a few weeks,” he added, hoping it sounded exciting and not as depressed as the idea of moving out made him feel. “It’s probably as good as I can do at the moment, so…” He trailed off.

“It does sound good,” she responded quietly, and he failed to understand if she really meant it or if it was something she simply couldn’t help saying.

He wanted to add something else, ask her to elaborate on that maybe. What did she mean by good? Good for him? For his son? Good that she was quite possibly, very likely getting rid of him quite soon? Wanted to say anything, really. But that was then that the engine began to sputter, its comfortable purr growing louder and more forced with each passing moment.

“Uh-oh,” Owen muttered and twisted the wheel just in time to slow down and pull off the road and onto the shoulder before the car coughed one last time and went quiet.

“ _ Uh-ho _ what?” Claire demanded, alarmed, sitting up in her seat. “What is it?”

“Gimme a sec,” he murmured, pushing and door open and nearly tumbling out onto the gravel roadside.

He propped the hood open and dove under it, waving the smoke riding from something or other out of his way. They had just refilled the gas not 70 miles away, and as far as he was aware, there wasn’t supposed to be anything wrong with anything else.

Shit, shit, shit.

Claire’s door also opened and then slammed shut, and he noticed her approach him out of the corner of his eye, the gravel crunching under the soles of her tennis shoes.

“So?” she asked.

“One of the belts snapped,” he responded. “Must’ve been worn off.”

SHIT.

“Can you fix it?” Claire looked around. They were not even on the highway. All she could see was hills and miles of interstate road ahead and behind them, and not a single vehicle in sight.

“Not with my bare hands.” Owen straightened up and slammed the hood shut with a loud bang. He grimaced and then circled the car and dove into the backseat only to come up again with a pack of beef jerky. Opened it as he walked back to where Claire stood, still staring at the hood, baffled. “Slim Jim?” he offered.

She didn’t look amused.

\---

Claire called the nearest car shop that popped up on her search list and asked for a tow truck after explaining their problem. They promised her they’d be there within half an hour.

When it started to get dark and cold two hours later, there still was no sign of them. Or anyone, for that matter. Where the hell was everyone else?

“You wanted an adventure,” Owen pointed out. Stretched out in his seat, its back reclined all the way down, his hand nearly elbow-deep in a can of Pringles.

“I wanted to take a plane,” Claire countered, unwrapping a Slim Jim and taking a tentative bite. She grimaced. “Jesus, this is not food.”

“Anything you wish when we’re back to civilization, baby,” he promised her, chewing with gusto. “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment. But on the off chance they aren’t--”

“Don’t even joke about it,” she warned him sternly as she vowed silently to never drive outside of city limits again. Any city. What had she gotten herself into? “And if they’re not, dibs on sleeping in the backseat.”

He chuckled. “My, oh my, Ms. Dearing.”

They were on their second round of debating which one was better,  _ Alien _ or  _ Blade Runner _ , both of them having strong opinions – Claire declared that nothing could ever beat  _ Alien _ , but Owen assured her that he’d rather have his leg cut off than give up on the awesomeness of  _ Blade Runner – _ when they ran out of chips.

“You do understand that they’re nothing but potato dust with salt, right?” she asked when he scowled at the empty tube like it was its fault it was empty. 

“Potato dust? What does it even mean?”

“Nothing good, obviously,” she huffed.

“Not everyone can sustain on lettuce,” Owen shot back. “And  _ Blade Runner _ had  _ groundbreaking _ cinematography when it first came out. One of a kind, Claire. It’s a legend. It’ll go down in history.”

“Someone’s been reading thesaurus?” Claire asked innocently, earning a displeased huff in response. It was easy to talk like that, in the near-complete dark with only blinking hazard lights breaking the blackness about them. Like everything was softer somehow. Like she could tell him anything. “Hey… when I asked about you not coming back,” she said quietly after a few moments, “I didn’t mean it like you weren’t welcome.”

“I know,” he called back softly.

“Because you are,” she finished with a shuddered inhale.

Hell, the last time she was alone in the house at night had been the night before the incident. For all Claire knew, she’d probably fall apart if he actually moved out, the way she hadn’t slowed herself to yet. Even her modest-sized condo seemingly grew in size in the darkness when every shadow and every sound and every dark corner looked like they housed the worst monsters she could imagine. Knowing that Owen was somewhere across the hall, sometimes watching a movie on his laptops, sometimes reading until the early hours of the morning, was a kind of comfort she never imagined she’d need. 

And yet, here she was, trying to get him to go out with Sylvia from PR. Karen was right. She was crazy.

“I know, Claire,” he repeated, and when she shifted, their pinky fingers touched, sending a jolt of electric current up her arm and across her whole body until even her toes were tingling.

She started to pull away, on instinct more than anything, when Owen’s hand curled around hers, his slightly calloused palm warm against her cool fingers, his hold light enough for Claire to pull away easily if she wanted to but unmistakably not accidental. She stared at their joined hands in the pale light of blinking hazard lights – it was nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the car properly, but it was enough to make out the general outlines of the steering wheel and the consoles, and Owen’s thumb running up and down hers.

And then she turned to find him watching her. Probably with the same success she was watching him, given the lack of proper lighting, but still.

Claire swallowed, hard, her fingers flexing a little around his as she leaned forward—

And then the car was flooded with the bright lights of tow truck headlights when it rounded a curve in the road and skidded to a halt right in front of their Nissan.

Owen dropped his hand immediately. “I bet this is our ride.”

Claire snapped the back of her seat into place. “I hope they know they’re not getting tipped.”

\---

The driver, a sombre 50-something named Carl with a grey beard and beer belly, blue cap with car shop’s logo sitting low over his eyes, dropped them off at the nearest bed and breakfast after explaining where they could pick up their car next morning. Claire wondered if ‘next morning’ actually meant next week, but she bit back the comment lest it become next week on account of her sharp tongue.

She followed Owen first into the cabin of the truck after Carl loaded their long-suffering vehicle into the back, and then toward the bed and breakfast door, her bag slung over her shoulder, neck pulled into the collar of her sweater against the harsh gusts of wind. After California, and even Arizona, the temperature in Utah felt particularly cold, reminding her of how the spring was still at least a month away here.

On the bright side, bed and breakfast stood half empty, and they got two adjoining rooms with a shared bathroom between them. The place that resembled an old-style farmhouse – which was what it probably had been before it became an inn – looked cozy and inviting, even from the driveway where Carl had left them. Even in the dark, Claire noted. Probably not the kind of place she would normally choose, but one she would certainly regret overlooking. Her room was nice, too. Not the average motel-type either – there were embroidered cushions in a chair and a soft rug on the floor. Someone actually bothered to make it look homey and pleasant. She appreciated the effort.

She dropped her bag onto the bed and called Karen, intending to tell her sister everything but ending up asking about the boys instead. Just hearing Karen’s voice felt like comfort. She omitted the whole car trouble issue, only mentioning they were staying not far from the Utah Lake for the night, or at least that was what gloomy Carl had told them when Owen had asked him about ‘where the heck they were’.

A knock on the door between her and Owen’s room came just as she hung up. 

“You ready?” Owen asked when she pulled the door open.

In the five minutes that it took her to splash some water on her face and call her sister, he had changed into cargo shorts and a hoodie pulled over his blue tee.

“Ready for what?” Claire’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I promised you real food, and real food you will get,” he announced with pathos.

Claire stepped back into her room, leaving him with a choice to either do the same or stand on the threshold. “It’s past 10 PM, Owen. We probably missed dinner.”

He leaned against the doorjamb and shrugged. “So? There should be some food in this house… That lady at the reception looked grandmotherly enough to take some pity on us. Maybe I can charm me out a piece of apple pie. D’you like apple pie?”

She rolled her eyes and huffed for good measure, but he had a point. Sort of. She hated imposing on people but the fear of that Slim Jim she’d wolfed down earlier causing some irreversible damage to her digestive system if it wasn’t accompanied by something less destructive was not to be ignored. 

Claire did follow him downstairs after another couple of minutes of this pointless back and forth, in part because he didn’t seem to be in a mood to give up, and in part, because half of her wanted to prove him around. Even if she got to go to bed hungry.

And based on the silence downstairs and the emptiness of the reception area, she was likely to stay that way, Claire thought as she looked around once the tidy space. There was a bell sitting on the top of the counter with a note asking to ring it if any assistance was required between 9 PM and 8 AM, but she grabbed Owen’s hand when he reached for it, telling him they were not going to bother anyone for nothing. They were lucky they’d managed to check in outside of the inn’s official office hours at all.

“Food is not nothing,” Owen proclaimed, appalled, making Claire roll her eyes.

“It’s bed and  _ breakfast _ , not bed and  _ three meals plus snacks _ ,” she snorted.

They did find a vending machine offering roughly the same selection of sugary goods that he’d brought on the trip, plus a variety of packed sandwiches Claire didn’t particularly trust.

“Knock yourself out,” Owen offered her generously, gesturing at the vending machine. “My treat!”

Huffing under her breath, Claire chose a pack of crackers that seemed like the safest bet and then watched him practically empty the whole thing, stuffing the pockets of his hoodie with cookie packets and Smarties and god only knew what else.

“You’ll die from a sugar overdose,” she told him primly.

“At least I’ll die happy,” he beamed at her. “Oh, look, they have a pool!”

Claire whipped her head around, following his gaze, and sure enough, there was a backdoor leading to a patio that opened onto a garden with a moderate-sized pool gleaming in the dark with the underwater lights. He walked past the closed restaurant and what looked like a common room or a library and checked the doorknob. It turned easily, the door swinging open without a sound.

“Look at this,” Owen murmured as he stepped outside.

Claire shivered in the cold night air, following him. “Fascinating,” she muttered flatly. 

He crouched down on the edge of it, dipping his hand into the water. “Warm, too. Care for a swim, Ms. Dearing?”

“In subzero temperatures?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, thanks.”

“C’mon, just feel this water.” He flicked some of it at her from his fingers, but Claire was too far away for any of it to land on her. She scowled at him nonetheless, giving him a universal  _ What are you, 12? _ look.

“I’d much rather feel the water in my shower,” she pointed out, but approached him anyway, gingerly running her fingertips along the smooth, still surface. It was a couple degrees warmer than the air, but still too cold for Claire’s comfort. The place must be nice in the summertime though, she decided.

“ _ Our _ shower,” Owen corrected absently, but she chose to ignore his comment.

He was watching her, a small smile on his lips, she could feel it even without looking at him as the colour started to creep up her cheeks. It was so quiet here. As far as she was aware, they were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and the sky above her head was moonless and black, and he could probably hear her heart stutter before launching into a gallop in her chest.

She stood up. “If tomorrow is going to be anything like today, maybe we should get some rest,” Claire suggested, tucking her hair behind her ear, her stomach in knots.

Owen nodded, then extended his hand to her. “Help the old man up?”

Claire grabbed it and pulled him up. She did not expect him to push up from the ground though, and they both stumbled backwards as a result, his arm around her waist to keep her from falling down and into the water. And wouldn’t that be a splendid way to end their day? 

“Sorry,” Owen murmured, holding her against him for a second or two.

And then his hand was on her cheek, tilting her face up, her fingers carding through her hair. And before she knew it, his lips were pressed to hers, firm and warm, and like they were on the goddamn island again. Claire was caught momentarily off guard, frozen. And then he was pulling away, looking at her like she was a time bomb about to go off, his face pallid in the bluish light around them. But before he could so much as blink, Claire grabbed his hoodie, tugging him toward her again, pressing against him as her mouth crashed to his, her fingers gripping the short hair on the back of his head.

They tumbled into her room because it was the closest, Owen kicking the door shut behind them. She unzipped his hoodie and it down his shoulders, her fingers sliding under the collar of his t-shirt and around his neck as his hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, skimming along her stomach and around her waist. She gasped against his mouth, breaking the kiss long enough to let him inch her shirt up some more and then slip it over her head, tossing it aside. Owen got rid of his own shirt too before framing her face with his hands and kissing her again, his tongue daring past her teeth and into her mouth, a low moan reverberating from Claire and into his body, her heart thudding so fast she couldn’t think straight.

“God, Claire…” he breathed out, kissing her down her neck and along her shoulder, his hands running along the belt of her pants before sliding underneath it.

She gasped, biting his earlobe lightly and making him groan.

By the time they made it to the bed, they were both naked and out of breath. Claire pulled him over herself, caressing his cheeks covered with a layer of 2-day stubble, kissing her was across his face until she found his lips again. He ran his fingers along her sides sparkling light in her belly, tight heat giving a tug deep inside her. Owen caught her hand, lacing their fingers together, his eyes never leaving hers as he slipped inside of her.

Claire’s eyes widened, pupils blown. He kissed her, hard and deep and slow, capturing her sigh, her fingers flexing around his. They found a rhythm, moving inside and around one another, tugging, pulling, dissolving in one another, sweet weight and friction feeling like heaven. She arched her back beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, her fingers carding through his hair, lips dancing over his face, breathy and feather-light.

Owen nuzzled into her neck, gripping her tight, his hand sliding along her thigh and toward her knee, pressing her leg to his ribs until she was whimpering quietly into his ear, her body pulsing and contracting around him, and he was falling, vanishing in sheer delight, the world spinning like crazy around them.

He regained his awareness slowly. Having already shifted them so he wouldn’t crush Claire, he tugged her closer to him until she was coiled around them, her arms wound tightly around his body, her head tucked under his chin. Owen kissed the top of her head, breathing her in, his lips curved against his will because, dear god, it was good, so very good. Better than he’d ever imagined – and he’d imagined  _ a lot _ . He trailed his fingers through her hair and pulled the covers over their heated bodies when she shivered.

“Just for the record, this was not why I asked her to come along,” Owen whispered when he found it in him to form coherent thoughts again, a smile in his voice.

“Really?” She planted a kiss on his chest. “I was hoping this was exactly why you did it.”

A low laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Is that why you wanted to set me up on a blind date?”

She looked up. “You never made a move, Owen.”

He blinked at her. “On a woman I don’t remember meeting?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “On  _ me _ . I didn’t know you were interested.”

“And getting me to date someone else was a way to go?” he inquired, surprised.

She huffed “Well, I couldn’t exactly throw myself at you,” she grumbled.

Owen’s hand ran up and down her back under the blanket, her body responding eagerly to his touch. Wouldn’t that be fun, he wanted to say. “Actually, that would’ve helped. I didn’t think  _ you _ were, Claire,” he admitted after a moment or two. “You know, interested.”

“I figured that much,” she murmured, resting her head back down. “Now, I mean.” She rubbed her eyes. “There’s a lot we have to figure out, I suppose.”

“Seems like it,” he agreed. “So, you want me to… ah, leave, go to my own room, or something?” he asked quietly.

Claire laughed softly, nuzzling into his collarbone. “Don’t you dare.”

It made him chuckle. “I can’t believe it,” he shook his head, his fingers looping Claire’s hair around her ear, tracing along her cheek. In the dark, her pale skin looked translucent, almost glowing.

“What? That it took us two years to get here?”

“That we could be doing this for two years,” he explained, sounding miserable. “That’s… a lot of catching up.”

“And there’s your answer as to whether or not you should go to your room,” she muttered with a hand on his jaw and a kiss.

\---

Claire was standing in front of a small mirror mounted on the wall in front of a dresser, putting on her earrings after having successfully given up on getting her hair to do what she wanted it to when Owen sauntered out of the bathroom. Shirtless and barefoot, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and his jeans hanging low on his hips, he walked over to her and slipped his arm around her waist, dropping a kiss into her hair.

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting Claire’s eyes in the mirror.

She sank back against the warmth of his chest, almost against herself, her lips tugging upwards.

“Hi.” She turned her head to kiss him on the cheek. He smelled of toothpaste, aftershave and her shampoo, and if the touch of his hand wasn’t already making Claire’s head spin, the combination of the above would certainly do the trick.

The thing about Claire that she had always been good at reading the room. Had it been an inborn quality or an acquired skill, she honestly didn’t know, but combined with her pathological inability to back the hell off, it got her where she was not so long ago. The youngest executive in Masrani Global, and not just that but the youngest female executive – it counted for something. She didn’t climb so much as fly up the corporate ladder in record time. She knew how to push and how to use every situation to her advantage, and she was pretty damn good at both.

And while she had apparently remained blind and oblivious to his feelings up until some ten hours ago, she could see now that something was off with Owen and it got under her skin as well. If he was someone else, she’d probably let it go. But with him, after everything that had gone down between them, she couldn’t do it, not even if her life depended on it.

“It’s not some sort of a post-traumatic reaction for you, is it?” she asked quietly.

Owen froze, then stepped around and in front of her, perching on the edge of the dresser before her, their eyes on the same level now. “What?”

Claire looked away and out of the window, not really seeing anything outside it. “Look, I know you’re in a weird place right now and I get it. But if it’s the case, I’d really like to have a heads-up. Last night, that is. Us.”

“I kinda thought it would be the other way around,” Owen admitted.

It was her turn to knit her eyebrows together in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asked, turning to him again.

“Well, I figured you’d learn I might have a kid and start running in the opposite direction.”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t touch his eye, hitting too close to home to actually joke about it. Instead, he was watching her with cautious apprehension, half waiting for reassurance, half fearing he’d planted the idea in her head that Claire hadn’t come up with herself yet, but now that it was there—

“I wouldn’t write that off just yet,” she said, mostly joking but also not, and they both knew it.

Owen put his hands on her hips and drew her closer to him until there was no space left between them. And it was so damn hard to stay focused on a conversation with a shirtless man she’d been daydreaming for the past few months, the man that she didn’t have to  _ imagine _ anymore. And it was so unfair that all of this had to snowball around them at the same time.

He tapped her chin until Claire had no choice but to look him in the eye, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What is it, Claire?”

“It was one thing to be here when you just needed company, and something else when we…” She trailed off, struggling to keep eye contact.

Owen sighed. “I know. You don’t have to—get involved.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she added quickly, her hands landing on his chest. Their faces were practically pressed to one another now. “I just don’t know how because I never thought… I mean, it’s not something…”

“Not something on your itinerary?” he asked helpfully, making her smile, if a little ruefully.

“Something like that.”

“I guess I should have taken you out on a date before dragging you into playing house. But you know me. Never doing it the easy way,” Owen grimaced. “Listen, I swear I’m not asking you to--”

She pressed a finger to his lips, her eyes locked with his. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Just… if this – us – if it’s your stress relief of sorts, I’d like to know it now.”

Owen laughed at her, kissing her lightly once, and then one more time, deeper, when she tried to pull back. “Stress  _ relief _ ?” he echoed, stroking her waist with his thumbs. “Have you met  _ you _ ?”

Claire groaned with exasperation and tried to push back, but then he was kissing her again, and thinking was out of the question.

“You think we have some time?” Owen murmured against her lips, his hands sliding down her back and slipping under her shirt, and this time she had to reach for his wrist to stop him.

“Mmm, tempting, but no.” She bumped her nose against his, stole another quick kiss, and finally stepped back, if somewhat reluctantly. “Put something on, will you?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, not missing her not-so-subtle once-over. “You don’t mean it.”

“I don’t,” Claire deadpanned with a scoff. “But other people might.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always much, much, much appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it took me forever to post the last of this story. However, it's finally here and I hope you'll like it. I also hope you are all taking good care of yourselves and treating yourselves with kindness, now and always.

Adam Jackson was a balding man in his late 40’s who burst into his office five minutes after Claire and Owen had arrived, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion for a second until it dawned on him who Owen must have been. His gaze lingered for a moment longer on Claire, seeing as how her presence had no explanation. But then he quickly introduced himself, shaking their hands briefly, before taking off his overcoat and ushering them both into his office as he apologized for being late even though he wasn’t.

Earlier, Claire had asked Owen if he wanted to do this on his own, seeing as how talking to a lawyer was not the same as having a road-trip companion. But his eyes had filled with so much panic even before she had finished speaking that she knew it was not an option.

Adam Jackson repeated everything he had already told Owen on the phone – his name on the birth certificate, the accident, no living family or other appointed guardians, and so on, and so forth. Owen listened to him with careful apprehension, his brows knitted together and his shoulders stiff, and there was only so much Claire could do not to reach for his hand, remind him that she was there.

“You can relinquish your rights, Mr. Grady,” he finished his monologue, “and in that case, the boy will be taken care of by the state. Or, you could proceed with the court-appointed DNA test to confirm your paternity, after which Samuel Jason  Wilner will be placed under your care.” He paused, peering at Owen over the thick rims of his glasses.

Owen glanced at Claire, then turned to Mr. Jackson. “Am I going to meet him?”

“Yes, actually--” As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. “That must be them. Give me a moment.” 

He stood up and walked around his desk, and both Owen and Claire turned after him as he approached the door briskly and pulled it open to reveal a woman about Claire’s age on the other side. There was a boy with her, his hand clasped around hers and his eyes, wide and inquisitive, darting between Mr. Jackson and Owen and Claire inside his office.

The lawyer exchanged a few words with the woman, and then the boy stepped inside, watching the strangers before him with cautious curiosity.

He looked a little older than the picture Claire had seen on his mother’s Facebook page a few days ago, but otherwise it was unmistakably him. Beside her, Owen froze, their resemblance not going past him. His eyes were blue, like Owen’s, his hair lighter but not by much, but everything else… In that moment, Claire wished she’d told him about Facebook, to soften the blow, a pang of guilt resonating inside of her over keeping it from him.

Meanwhile, Owen uncurled from his chair and crouched in front of the boy.

“Hi, Sam,” he started, his voice tight, and then cleared his throat. “I’m Owen. Do you know who I am?”

Sam glanced quickly at Mr. Jackson standing slightly behind him and turned to Owen again. “My dad?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s lips formed into an uncertain smile. “Your mom told you about me?” The boy shook his head. “It’s okay.” A pause. “You, ah… will probably come live with me now.”

Sam’s face scrunched contemplatively. “Can I stay with Debbie?” he asked after a few moments.

Owen looked up at Mr. Jackson. “It’s Mrs. Nelson,” the latter explained, his eyes darting toward the door behind which the woman who had brought Sam over was waiting at the reception. “She’s with foster care.”

Owen nodded and looked at Sam again. “Probably no, I’m afraid.”

“Okay,” the boy said, neither enthusiastic, nor disappointed, which made Owen wonder just how much he understood about what had happened to Laura, about what was going on now, and  _ why _ , his mind reeling from the sheer amount of everything he didn’t know how to consider.

“Mr. Grady,” Adam Jackson started, coughing to catch Owen’s attention. “If you could follow me, please…”

“Yeah, of course.” Owen rose to his feet, rubbing his cheek with his hand, his eyes flickering between the boy, Mr. Jackson and Claire.

“Go,” Claire mouthed, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’ll stay here.”

He hesitated for another second and then nodded curtly and followed Mr. Jackson out of the office, closing the door behind him.

And then there was silence and the curious gaze of a child on her that Claire didn’t know how to hold.

This was not something her Master’s had taught her. Hell, she could barely hold a conversation with her own nephews, at least before the incident – after, she was trying to make an effort to actually stay in touch with her family, and strangely enough, both of the boys were into it. These days, even Zach didn’t shy away from Skyping with her now and then, and Gray emailed her almost every day, and they talked every week.

But that was different.

Still, she hoped she didn’t look as nervous and jittery as she felt. “Hi, Sam,” Claire said softly, leaning closer to him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and prayed her smile looked friendly and not as strained as it felt. “I’m your dad’s friend.”

The boy studied her for a long moment, his eyes inquisitive and a little guarded, but not unfriendly. Or so she hoped.

“I like your hair,” he said at last, looked quickly at the door, and then climbed into the chair previously occupied by Owen.

“Thank you.” Her expression relaxed. “I like your truck.” She nodded at the toy in Sam’s hands.

He ran it over the edge of Mr. Jackson’s desk before turning to her and asking, “Can I go home now?”

\---

The official proceedings took about two hours, during which Owen signed the required paperwork and Adam Jackson arranged the DNA test for him and Sam to make his paternity official. There still was an issue of Laura’s house that technically belonged to Sam, and by extension, to his legal guardian. Claire had taken charge asking the questions after a while, slightly more aware of what they needed to go through. When Owen’s father had passed on a while ago, everything was pretty straightforward, and there was a will. Laura didn’t have one, but since there was no one else to try and claim her property, there weren’t supposed to be any issues. Only a mountain of paperwork to wade through.

Mr. Jackson was more of a child welfare specialist than anything else, and he suggested that Owen needed to talk to someone more versed in real estate practice, offering a few names he knew.

Afterwards, Mrs. Nelson took Sam back home with her where he would stay until Owen’s rights became official, and Owen and Claire finally stumbled out into the chilly afternoon, his hand reaching for hers instantly. She could all but hear the buzz of confusion in his head, feeling it run like a current beneath his skin.

“You okay?” she asked, squeezing his fingers with hers.

He let out a long breath and morphed into a shaky laugh. “I don’t know.”

Claire stopped, forcing him to stop, too. “It’s a lot to take in,” she admitted, watching him. “But Sam seems lovely.”

Owen smiled if a little tentatively. “He’s…”

“So very obviously yours.”

“Debatable. We might need to see his bad habits first before we know that for sure,” he noted before pulling Claire into him and planting a kiss on the top of her head. She couldn’t help but snot. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“I was curious,” she said into his chest, sinking into his embrace against the chilly wind, folded neatly into him, feeling him relax immediately, finding the same comfort in her closeness that she was looking in his.

She left for San Diego later that night – there were only so many days she could take off for personal reasons that didn’t involve the death of an immediate family member before her job started tumbling down. Owen had to stay back to wait for the results of the paternity test and finish the rest of official proceedings – he looked so overwhelmed when they were saying their goodbyes she had to bite her tongue so as not to insist he came with her, even just for a couple of days.

She told Owen to let her know when they were coming back, promising to meet him and Sam at the airport, trying to look past the not so subtle panic pooling in his gaze at the idea of her departure. He dropped her off at her terminal, holding her tight for a long moment before she headed off toward the security gates.

“You will be okay,” Claire whispered, kissing him on the bearded cheek.

“This is the scariest shit ever, Claire,” Owen breathed out, unconvinced.

“Scarier than the Indominus Rex?” she inquired, an eyebrow arched.

“Much.” He traced his fingers along her face. “What was your scariest moment that day?”

She shook her head, looking away and biting her lip. “When I thought she ate you.”

Owen tipped her chin and kissed her, quick and hard. “Go. Before I decided to keep you.”

In the following days, he went to Laura’s house, but it was odd to be there by himself. Her life, preserved in this one place, still mostly untouched, felt like something he had no right to disturb. There were photos of her and Sam in the living room and her bedroom, and he decided that he might sort through them and keep a few, for the boy, but not now. Now, he simply walked around the place, taking note of the discarded books and toys, everything that mattered to her and her son, hoping the child was being treated well by the foster family.

Debbie Nelson seemed like a nice person when they had met in Jackson’s office, genuinely concerned by the well-being of the boy. She had asked Owen about his job and a few general questions, which, he knew, were probably not enough to get a clear grip of his personality, but she had seemed to have been satisfied when they’d left, promising to take good care of Sam while he was with her.

At night, he lay wide awake in his hotel bed, the room still smelling faintly of Claire, a comfortable scent that calmed his restless mind, though not enough to let him sleep. This was still too much, more than he could wrap his mind around, the questions still piling up in his head, the who’s and the why’s, chasing one another in his head. Yet, having a goal made it easier somehow. Soon, he knew, it would be over.

\---

_ “He has a what?” _

Claire closed her eyes and counted to five. She did expect Karen to be surprised. Hell, Claire herself was still surprised, to put it mildly. Yet, she seemed to be entirely unprepared for the onslaught of questions raining on her now and making her wish she had enough sense to hold off sharing this latest development for another year, or ten.

A pang of guilt the thought brought on made Claire wince. She’d stalled long enough, but with Owen still away and having no one to discuss her growing concerns with – and knowing that he probably wasn’t the best person for it anyway – it had eventually grown too much to bear. Besides, there was a tiny chance Karen would’ve learned sooner or later that there was a child living in Claire’s house. And for all she knew, Owen might have mentioned something to Zach or Gray anyway, what with them talking on Facetime more often than they did with her. And it wasn’t like there was a good time to drop a bomb like this. So she did it on the night before Owen and Sam were supposed to arrive in San Diego.

She explained to Karen everything she knew – about Laura, and her not staying in touch and never telling Owen she’d gotten pregnant, about the accident and everything that had followed, omitting a detail here and there, but otherwise keeping it pretty straightforward. Which still somehow hadn’t come out straightforward enough.

“We’re still figuring it out,” she finished in a whoosh of breath.

_ “We?” _ Karen’s ears perked instantly, and Claire winced a little, realizing if a little belatedly that she might have missed  _ something _ . Something important.  _ “As in, you AND the hot board shorts?” _

“You don’t have to call him that,” Claire said with reproach, even though Owen still was not off the hook regarding his certain wardrobe choices. Probably never would be, or, at least, not until he stopped shoving that itinerary in her face whenever he was out of better arguments. “And… yes. I guess.”

_ “Yes, you guess,” _ Karen echoed.  _ “Jesus Christ, Claire, finally! I mean, I don’t know about the whole son thing and how you keep on making your life so damn complicated without even trying, but… Look, the man obviously had hots for you—" _

“ _ Had hots _ ? Who even says that?” Claire snorted.

_ “Semantics,” _ her sister brushed her off.  _ “I thought you’d never say that.” _ And then,  _ “Crap, I just lost $10.” _

“Lost what?” Claire’s jaw dropped. “Have you been betting on—God, what  _ have _ you been betting on?”

Karen huffed.  _ “On you being the typical Claire and running away. Zach said you were already a thing, just hiding it, and I didn’t believe him. So technically, I owe him $10 now.” _

“You’re awful,” Claire said.

_ “I love you, too. So, tell me everything. Every detail. Is he any good… you know?” _

“Ew, gross, Karen!”

_ “Come on, I’ve been divorced for how long? Let me live vicariously through you.” _

“Let your imagination run wild,” Claire suggested. “Look, I gotta go. Tell the boys I love them, and…” She paused. “You guys need to come visit sometime.”

She hung up before Karen could pipe in and let out a slow breath. Well, this went better than she had expected. Somewhat better.

Her phone chirped again.

“I’m not sharing anything saucy with you--” Claire started, certain that it was her sister again.

_ “Really? This is what I was hoping for,” _ Owen chuckled on the other end of the line, and her lips tugged upwards, the sound of his voice echoing with a flurry in her chest.

“Sorry, I thought it was Karen,” she laughed.

_ “Please, do tell. I’m even more intrigued now.” _

“Come here, and I’ll show you,” she drawled, making Owen choke and cough. “Is everything okay? Are we still on for tomorrow?”

_ “Yeah, sure.”  _ She could hear him move around the room. He had booked the ticket for the day Sam was supposed to be released in his care so that the boy didn’t have to spend the night either at the hotel, or in his old house, choosing to bring him over to California straight away.  _ “You don’t have to come to the—" _

“Of course, I’ll be there,” she promised.

The proceedings had taken about 5 days in total. The DNA test was a breeze – with Owen being there and more than willing to participate, it had been done in 2 days, and then Mr. Jackson had to finalize the paperwork while Owen tried to figure out what to do with Laura’s house. After talking to one of the attorneys recommended by Mr. Jackson, it had been decided that it would stay locked until he became the rightful owner of it. The good news was that the house previously belonged to Laura’s parents. So at least there was no mortgage, but there still were issues like the insurance and taxes that needed to be dealt with.

Claire had told him not to worry about any of that, saying she’d find someone who could settle it as quickly and painlessly as possible. He didn’t particularly like the idea of dragging her into this, but with Sam and everything else, he didn’t have it in him to protest, she could feel that.

_ “Okay. So, about that saucy stuff…” _ Owen began, almost hopefully.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Owen.”

\---

They had to go by Laura’s house after Mrs. Nelson brought Sam to Adam Jackson’s office to hand him over to Owen, to pick up some of his clothes and toys and whatever else he wanted to take with him.

The boy didn’t say much to him, regarding Owen with careful consideration, though it was a relief that he didn’t appear frightened or particularly concerned. Still, when Owen asked him if there was anything he liked to bring over to his new home, Sam promptly piled his favourite toys on his bed, added a few books to them, and then allowed Owen to sort through his clothes, saying yes or no to each item his father pulled out of the closet and the drawers. Not that it mattered. If anything, they could always buy the new stuff, but Owen wanted him to feel at least a little bit in control over what was happening.

Claire was waiting for them, as promised, leaning against the railing outside the baggage claim area. Dressed in light-blue slacks and a beige silk top, she was as sunny as California itself.

“Hey, Sam,” she waved to the boy when Owen ushered him toward her, steering him gently in the right direction.

He nodded to her, looked up at Owen, and then glanced around him.

“God, I missed you,” Owen murmured into her hair, throwing his arm around her, conscious of the boy, but the latter was studying the row of yellow cabs behind the glass walls and not paying any attention to them. He had already told Owen he had never been on a plane before, the entire experience a lot more exciting than acquiring a new parent.

Claire pressed a quick kiss to his jaw, her hand snaking around his waist. “Was everything okay?”

He nodded. “They had colouring books on the plane, so that was good. He never travelled before.”

“Are  _ you _ okay?”

He looked down at Sam first, then at her, the line of his shoulders relaxing. “I am now.”

In the days following her return to San Diego, Claire had done her best to turn the office where Owen used to sleep into the boy’s room, to the best of her abilities. She had replaced the futon with a child’s bed and had her old computer desk removed in order to squeeze in a chest of drawers and an armchair, plus an assortment of toys – some LEGO sets and a few stuffed toys. The bookshelf had to stay there because there was no space left for it in her storage area, but she hoped that maybe they could use it, as soon as she cleared it. The room still didn’t quite have the right feel to her, but there was only so much she could do in four days and with 10-hour workdays.

“You didn’t have to do it,” Owen said quietly when he saw it while Sam dropped his backpack on the bed and was running his fingers over the boxes of LEGO.

“I know, but I couldn’t let him sleep on the futon,” Claire responded, watching the boy with nervous apprehension. He’d barely said a word to her in the last few hours, usually nodding or shaking his head when she asked him something, or not responding at all.

Owen’s hand landed on the small of her back. “But you could have me sleep on it?” he commented, amused.

“You were supposed to get sick of it and do something about it, like start sleeping in my room,” she countered, arching her eyebrow pointedly at him.

“You might need to work on your subtlety, Ms. Dearing,” he smirked, then pulled her into the hallway, his smile slipping off his face. “I meant it though, you didn’t have to do it. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to find something else, a place of my own.”

Claire frowned for a moment, but then it smoothed out and a smile was back in place, the one that she normally reserved for business meetings. One that Owen hated because it looked like a mask and not like his Claire at all.

“Okay. I mean, if that’s what you want.”

He caught her hand when she turned to leave. “Claire…” fingers curled around her wrist, he pulled her toward him, desperately trying to catch her eyes. “I didn’t mean it… Look, it’s a lot. I don’t know if I have any right to pull you into any of this.”

She sighed and shook her head. “You’re not. If you want to leave, I’m not going to ask you to stay.” Her voice dropped as she rubbed her forehead before finally looking at him, her gaze darting toward the office-now-Sam’s-room before locking with Owen’s again. “I’m not equipped or ready for any of this.” She gestured vaguely around with her free hand but didn’t try to pull away from his grasp. “Hell, I’m better equipped for running away from the Indominus Rex, and you should do what makes you happy—"

He cut her off, with a hand on her cheek and a kiss. “Okay,” Owen mouthed, drawing back. “It’s you. You are making me happy. I’m happy.” His eyebrows pulled together before he peeked into her former office again to find Sam pulling his books out of his backpack. “Where’s my stuff?”

Beside him, Claire rolled her eyes. “For someone so smart, you can be terribly slow sometimes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been like a thousand years but it's finished now, and though it's just a short story, I like it anyway. Hopefully you enjoyed it, as well :) 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Man, it was fun to go through this again! 
> 
> More coming soon! Feedback is always appreciated :)


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